


All of Me

by enefasparable



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: (I mean honestly there's actually plot here yall but just saying you'll get your smut at the end), Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tumblr Prompt, Wall Sex, cute (smutty) extension on 3x12's closing scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 05:36:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9642857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enefasparable/pseuds/enefasparable
Summary: Iris worries that The Flash is some separate person that her boyfriend becomes when saving other people, so Barry decides to use an upcoming charity gala to show Iris just how much of the Flash she's entitled to. Lots of eye fucking, Iris and Linda in gorgeous dresses, and heated (public-ish) wall sex ensue. Enjoy!





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey ya'll. Got this amazing Tumblr prompt request and wrote this fic in response. Forgive me for any mistakes; I wasn't able to get a beta reader, and I wanted to share this quickly. I reaaaally hope yall enjoy, and as always, any comments / kudos / bookmarks are SO APPRECIATED. Enjoy!
> 
> Also, this fic headcanons Linda Park as bisexual (with a strong interest in women, which you'll see reflected here.)

The thing about words are that they can’t be unsaid; they burrow into the hollow of one’s soul, finding purchase in uncertainty. They twist at and pull and gnarl the strings of it, leaving behind a patchwork web of hurts that just don’t heal right.

 _Sometimes it feels like the Flash is this guy my boyfriend becomes when he runs off to save other people. Like I’m the only one who doesn’t get the Flash. He felt_ separate _from you._

She’d finished her declaration with the truth — that she loved him, _all_ of him. But there was something … _off_ about Barry, now. Something she couldn’t quite place.

Sure, they were happy enough. Cooking dinners together was still a delight, with him sneaking up behind her to add bits of seasoning or pepper her neck with warm, distracting kisses; their Tuesday movie night was a blast, full of sugar highs from dollar store candy and debates over whether Sam _needed_ to carry Frodo up Mount Doom or not; Wednesday night was full of throaty moans and warm flesh pressed against various surfaces — the kitchen table, couch cushions, cool glass of the patio doors — as Iris’ _third_ orgasm rocked through her, spiraling around Barry’s needy thrusting and harsh breathing.

She’d never known this kind of blissful happiness. But her earlier words lingered between them somehow; they folded themselves into the way he eyed her, green gaze molten with worry.

So on the night of the annual Central City Charity Gala, Iris thought she might ease the tension by inviting him to paint the town with her.

“Babe,” she’d whispered, wrapping her arms around him while he brushed his teeth that morning. “Come with me tonight. Think about how much fun it’ll be? No metas. No crime. No investigative deadlines to hit. Just us, endless glasses of _Dom Perignon_ , and really, _really_ good sex when we get home.”

He laughed. “While I’d love nothing more than to get wasted with my gorgeous girlfriend, I … can’t.”

“Really?” Iris stiffened.

“Yeah, I kinda let and case files and lab samples pile up at CCPD.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “And I promised Julian I’d cover some of his stuff too, since he’s helping out with Team Flash and everything.”

Iris sighed. “Can’t you just … I dunno, speed through everything like you usually do?”

He wiped his face, turning to take her warm cheeks between his hands. “Normally yeah, but Singh’s going to be in the office working late tonight, and he’s been on me about handling everything before week’s end.”

“Just get my Dad to cover for you,” she shrugged. “He totally would.”

“Iris, honey — I just can’t, okay?” He avoided her disappointed gaze. “I’m really sorry.”

That look was back — the molten, unspoken sadness lingering around him like a cloud. So she bit her tongue, swallowed the lump forming in her throat, and threw him a dazzling smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Yeah, no — it’s okay. Raincheck then.”

But before they left for work, he caught her hand. “We’ll reschedule okay? A nice evening out, just us.” He took her hands in his, eyes fierce — but not with sadness now. Was it determination? Or something else?

If Barry Allen was a man of mystery, Iris West was a woman with a deadline; as much as she wanted to probe this sudden shift in energy, she didn’t have time to before work. So she kissed him softly, slowly, wantingly, savoring the taste of mint leftover from his mouthwash. For now, that had to be enough.

“Okay.”

* * *

Later that evening, underneath an ombre sky that faded from dusky orange to deep blue, blaring horns and jazzy piano notes spilled out from the Central City Charity Gala; at the same time, Iris strutted in, black heels clacking in time to the band’s rhythm and skin-tight dress glittering under light that shone from the ceiling’s crystal chandeliers. Though the bodice was fitted, its lower half swished softly as she descended the staircase, catching eyes (and stirring hearts) with every step.

Her heart thudded; arriving alone, she felt self-conscious as eyes traveled every inch of her exposed skin. But Linda was waiting below, waving and fanning herself in mock lust over her friend’s arrival.

“Damn, girl. Talk about making an entrance.”

Iris grinned. “You said this was was a fancy shindig.”

“Well get ready to stir some loins looking like that,” she joked, looking around. Linda wore an extravagant wine-colored dress that faded to shades of white-grey at the bottom, and Iris eyed her in return-awe.

“Girl, don’t _even start_.” She spun her friend around, delighting at the blush that lit Linda cheeks. “You look amazing.”

“Well let’s hope another cute girl in here thinks so, too.”

Iris laughed as the two weaved through the crowded ballroom. “Linda, this is for charity. We’re supposed to be listening to causes and scoping out stories.”

Linda waved her off, then signaled for a server carrying glasses of _Dom_ to hand them two. “I can want to save the children and my vagina at the same time.”

Iris practically choked on her drink. “I can’t take you anywhere.”

“This is why you _love_ me,” Linda teased. “And we’re going to have a good time tonight. Trust me!”

The best thing about rich charity balls _had_ to be constant booze; everywhere they turned, every manner of drink was offered to them. And half an hour hadn’t passed before they found an open bar at the back of the room, serving harder alcohol. It was nestled next to dessert tables piled high with chocolate-covered strawberries, sticky-sweet pastries, and fruit-filled eclairs.

Linda nursed a gin and tonic, opting instead to teasingly enjoy her strawberries while chatting up a strawberry blond; Iris sipped bourbon on the rocks while talking shop with other CCPN reporters who’d recently arrived. But at one point, a “philanthropist” (what he called himself, anyway) approached Iris. He was _the definition_ of a silver fox looking for a pretty girl to dance with, but Iris wasn’t comfortable (or interested) in doing so.

“Sorry,” she said. “I’m just here to cover the event.”

He smirked. “You’d have a better view from the dance floor, don’t you think?”

At this point, her colleagues were eyeing her thoughtfully, and Mina (their new, overzealous intern) was practically bouncing on her heels to grab his attention, but he ignored them all.

“We could discuss my work while we waltz.”

Iris cringed; the alcohol made it _much_ harder to mask that disdain. “And what work would that be?”

“I’m thinking of investing in Star Labs’ educational program in an effort to promote science education among the community; I was impressed with their recent museum opening.”

Iris plastered a tight smile on her face, ready to rebuke him once again, but he interrupted —

“I know you’ve written pieces on the facility before; I just thought you might be interested.” But his tone suggested a _very_ different kind of interest.

But before he could continue his unwanted advances any further, the room erupted in a collective gasp. Every head in the room pivoted, turning to eye the entry staircase.

And Iris nearly dropped her glass.

“Excuse me, everybody — sorry to interrupt, but we have an exciting announcement to share!” A woman with wispy gray hair spoke into a mic, the lights highlighting her pale hand, which was delicately perched on a red-suited shoulder. “We have the privilege of welcoming The Flash as an honored guest this evening!”

The room erupted into cheer, and Iris’ heart caught in her throat.

Before she had time to gather her alcohol-muddled thoughts, Linda was at her side in an instant.

“Holy shit,” she whispered. “I thought you said Barry wasn’t coming?”

The Flash didn’t make … _appearances_. If anything, people associated that brazenness with Iris’ younger brother, what with Kid Flash being the selfie-taking, crowd-pleasing favorite as of late. But there he was, descending the stairs with the Gala’s representative, waving like a pageant contestant to the overly-excited audience.

Iris couldn’t even form words.

“Now,” the Gala rep continued, “I’ll expect everyone here to treat our guest with the utmost welcome. No cheeky attempts at uncovering his identity or pestering him about top-secret Flash business.”

Laughter bubbled throughout the room, and Iris downed the rest of her bourbon in an attempt to steady herself. (Of course, that had the _opposite_ effect, but down the rabbit hole she went!)

And with the rules now set into place, The Flash raced from the room. Gala-goers looked around excitedly to see where he’d gone, but he returned in a blink at the representative’s side, only this time wearing a dark tuxedo and face mask similar to Jesse Quick’s, so that more of his head was exposed. Barry’s profile was unmistakable to Iris, but he vibrated his face to remain semi-anonymous, just like he’d done when they’d met in secret atop Jitters.

“Well, this should be interesting,” Linda nudged her. “And for the record, he looks _good_.”

“I know,” Iris heard herself say. Was she actually biting her lip?

But the warm feeling between her legs replaced itself with seething anger. I mean, _really_? What was Barry playing at here? What was he hoping to gain by risking his identity?

Why hadn’t he just come with her to begin with?

Silver-fox-creep was still in Iris’ orbit, though, and his annoying questioning distracted her inner train of thought.

“Never a dull day, right?”

Iris shrugged, too frustrated to answer.

“I should capitalize on this opportunity,” the man whispered, more to himself than her. “Partnering with the Flash financially could be a gold mine.”

He began to walk toward The Flash, but the crowd was so thick that they could barely maneuver. The representative was still at Barry’s side, but people struggled to get closer with smartphones in hand. While the crowd’s interest was trained on him, Iris noticed that Barry’s seemed to lie elsewhere. They were rather small movements, but she noticed that his head darted quickly about, as though he were looking for her.

Security began to disperse the crowds, giving him bits of breathing room here and there; it was clear they were trying to pinpoint the most important figures in the room for one-on-one introductions with The Flash, but Iris knew she wasn’t among them. She shot Linda a look, to which Linda returned with a wiggle of her eyebrows.

“He’ll never find you standing back here. Go, go!”

Iris smiled brilliantly and left her empty drink at the bar.

Now, there were a _lot_ of ways she could approach this, but Iris was kind of enjoying the hot feeling that came from appraising him from afar. She wanted that same honor, wanted to affect him in a similar way. So she took a quick look in her compact mirror, reapplied a coat of dark ruby lipstick, and grabbed the attention of James, one of the newer junior reporters at CCPN, for a dance.

The band struck up Benny Goodman’s “Sing Sing Sing”, allowing for the couples that weren’t enthralled with the Flash to attempt rancorous swing moves. Luckily, Iris had been taking swing, modern dance, and ballet for almost a year at Central City’s Dance Repertoire after work to stay in shape without feeling like she was “exercising”, so she knew how to cut a rug.

James seemed equally excited to partner with her. The two made their way onto the floor in time with the drum beat, swaying and sashaying as the horns came in; James let her lead, instantly realizing that she knew what she was doing more than he did, even though they didn’t do much more than simple shimmies and turns using a four step swing method. But they performed better than any couple out there, and Iris soon realized that most of the other dancers had retreated to watch them execute moves they couldn’t.

“You’re putting the rest of us to shame, me included,” James said breathily.

Iris felt hot all over, in her element; she didn’t have time to gauge whether Barry had found her yet, but _god_ was she delighting in the feeling of movement.

She laughed. “Keep up or sit down — that’s my motto.”

“Well, I might not have to much longer.”

James nodded toward a space behind her; when Iris turned, she caught The Flash mid-saunter, headed right for them, straightening his tux and bowtie. In the still heat of the ballroom, the world melted around their shared gaze and the band painted the air with lusty, rhythmic pulsing that felt like it was meant just for them — the only two people in the world.

James was gone when Iris looked back, probably gasping for air, but Barry was nearly level with her — the entire room seeming to press their gaze upon the solo pair.

“Excuse me, Miss,” Barry said, voice vibrating as though strung across multiple chords. “I was hoping to ask for the next dance.”

Iris’ earlier anger melted away at that sound; instantly, she was transported back to the days of rooftop meetings, nothing but want laying thick between them, and her heart fluttered at the sight of Barry in his tailored garb. “Sing Sing Sing” faded to an end, ushering in a much slower Billie Holiday piece; Iris wiped away a stray curl from her moist forehead, and approached him slowly.

“I’m not sure I could say no to The Flash.”

He was close enough to reach out and skim her cheek with his fingers now, but he merely bent to whisper softly in her ear: “Your call, Iris. I’m yours — _all_ of me — to do as you please tonight.”

Bourbon had loosened every part of her, so much so that she practically moaned at the sound of his voice against her neck and the intent behind his words.  

“Is that right?” She steadied herself, then took his hand in hers. “Can you keep up?”

“I’ll do my best.” He smiled, put his other hand behind her waist, and pulled her against him; they sighed into the press of their bodies, but she realized the tactic was as much to save face as it was to be near her — he was hard as a rock, and it had to be tenting his tuxedo slacks. “You look … you look amazing tonight, Iris,” Barry whispered.

“I can tell,” she said, rolling her hips against his minutely. It forced a soft, needy groan from him, landing against her moist skin (he’d helplessly tucked his face into the crook of her neck). His sounds of tempestuous want were lost in the room’s murmuring, cameras going off left and right to grab an image of The Flash with the most beautiful woman in attendance. “So, this is really something, huh? What’d you think the trending hashtag’ll be?” She asked playfully.

“Hmm,” he pondered, spinning her slowly about the room, “#MrStealYoGirl seems appropriate.”

Iris giggled, swatting at him. “I guess Barry Allen has a lot to watch out for?”

“Oh, don’t even get me started on _that_ guy.” Barry pressed his forehead against hers while they swayed to the ever-slowing rhythm. “About how he doesn’t deserve you. About what I’d do if you were mine.”

Iris bit her lip, grateful that the cameras couldn’t pick up her expression since it was buried into Barry’s shoulder — it was her turn to duck her head from view. “He’s not a bad guy, Flash.”

“But he made you feel like you didn’t deserve both halves of him,” Barry whispered, serious now. “When what he should’ve been doing is making clear that The Flash wants to spend every waking second protecting Iris Ann West.”

“West-Allen,” she smirked brazenly, feeling heady. Despite his calculated vocal vibrations, she glimpsed the flare of emotion coloring his cheeks. “I think, in the future, they get married. So your chances aren’t looking good, Flash.”

Their swaying came to a slow, soft stop — the room quiet enough to hear a pin drop (aside from the band, which had recently segwayed to Miles Davis).

“But if Barry Allen were here,” Iris continued, “I’d want him to know how badly I want him … and you. _Both_ of you. To know just … what you do to me, when you do things like _this_. Showing up to a charity event, surprising me, and making me feel like I’m the only woman in the room that matters.”

“Because you are,” he finished thickly, vibrating voice laced with burning desire. “You always have been, Iris.”

If it felt like time had stopped then, when it was just the two of them and a slow jaunt across the dance floor, it abruptly began again when the Gala representative rejoined their side; the woman’s frail face was insistent, perhaps concerned that a guest of no particular importance had caught so much of the Man of the Hour’s attention.

“Excuse me, Mr. Flash — there’s an entire group of attendees we’d love you to meet, if you’re … through here?”

Iris took a few breaths, hoping to clear the flush from her cheeks; Barry’s tented trousers didn’t seem so bad from this angle, and before she could say another word, he was whisked away to meet and greet with a wealthy group of well-known movers and shakers waiting off to the ballroom’s end.

Iris’ dance moves earned her quite a few dance requests, though — partners were lining up to dance with her; the band struck up a quaint French piece, and Iris twirled with men whose faces were as forgettable as their desperate attempts to get her to dance. But while on the floor, Iris felt Barry’s eyes against her. Every brush of another’s fingers against her skin, every approach of a new partner, every moment spent with someone else — it shifted something inside him, as evinced by the way his gaze burned holes in her movements; she _yearned_ to know what he was thinking. Eventually, Iris turned down the fifth dance partner, opting instead to catch her breath at a far side of the room. It only took a few moments for her best friend and escort for the evening to corner her.

“ _Girl_ ,” Linda practically screamed, clearly having had far too many gin and tonics. “Why didn’t you guys just have sex on the dance floor? That might’ve been more obvious.”

“Shut up,” Iris teased. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Iris — it was like watching a first wedding dance. It was _that bad_. Were you two planning on making this … so public?”

Iris shook her head. “I’m just — going with it.”

They stood in silence for a while, watching Barry interact smoothly with Central City’s biggest players, before Linda interrupted their staring.

“But god it’s hot, right?”

“So hot,” Iris whined. “This is torture.”

“We need to get laid. And there’s a pretty girl over there who said her place is around the corner, so I’m going to leave.” She took Iris’ hand then, concerned. “But, you’re okay right? If you need your bestie and wingwoman to help out, I can stay.”

Iris followed Linda’s gaze to a dark haired girl with even darker skin and soft eyes. “No, get you some philanthropic action. I got this,” Iris said, steeling herself.

Linda gave her a reassuring squeeze, made a beeline for her new companion, and Iris was almost ready to make Barry jealous with more dancing when the silver-fox-creep from earlier invaded her space again.

“So you’ve become quite the sensation tonight. I’m not sure who’s more interesting — you or The Flash.”

Iris swallowed her annoyance. “Oh, me, by a long shot.” She began to walk away, but felt his grip come taut against her arm.

“Interesting,” he began, “considering you weren’t interested in dancing earlier.”

Iris glanced once at his too-tight hand on her arm, then back at his face, glare icy. “Ever stop to think that might’ve had something to do with the partner that was trying to ask for said dance?”

She tried ripping her arm from his grip, but he was insistent, feigning hurt. “I’m sorry if I came off too strong, but you’re like a force of nature — a man can’t _not_ want to be ensnared by you.”

“ _Excuse me?!_ ”

Iris thought about planting a right hook against his face; she’d taken down Kid Flash with that same move, so why not this geezer? But the air sizzled around her, crackling and lighting with sparks that prickled her skin; in an instant, The Flash was at her side, warm grip atop the man’s with surprising strength. The “philanthropist” clearly didn’t realize what was happening until it was already in motion, his hand practically being crushed in the vice-like grip of Barry’s.

“Ms. West, it looked like you were on your way out. Can I escort you?”

Iris caught the vision of Barry’s taut frame between them, and suddenly her arm was free, the self-proclaimed “philanthropist” backing off fearfully; watching Barry stand him down, gaze fierce through the blurring motion (something only _she_ could catch), almost made Iris melt into a puddle right then and there. There was something about being saved (even if she didn’t _need_ it) that set her aflame.

“Actually, that’d be perfect.” She looped her arm around Barry’s, noticing how the room’s attention once again shifted toward them. “But are you sure it’s a good idea to be seen walking out with me?”

Barry didn’t give a response; all Iris saw was the world still for a fraction of an instant, then blur about her; it wasn’t until seconds later that she realized the light of the main room had faded in exchange for the darkness of an alcove somewhere in the building, far from the main area.

Amid the soft darkness, there was only them — the sound of their breath, the feeling of her back pressed against the wall, dress hiked up above her thighs, leg wrapped around Barry’s waist; Iris was facing her boyfriend now, who’d dropped his half-hearted disguise in exchange for open want, the mask gone, all pretense faded.

“Are you okay?” He thumbed her cheeks, ghosted his fingers across her arm — where the man’s hand once was — then breathed her in with his forehead pressed softly against hers. “God, Iris, watching you out there …”

“I know, baby,” she whispered. Iris felt him press his erection into her softly, rubbing gentle circles into her folds, eliciting heady moans she’d held back all night. “Should we go home?”

“No.” Barry nipped at her neck, insistent, groaning between rhythmic pumps of his hips against hers. “I — I wouldn’t make it.”

Iris moaned into his ear. “Are you going to fuck me here? Right here?”

Barry increased his maddening pace, rubbing her faster now and bringing forth delicious moans that he kissed away with slow, delicate ministrations.

“Right here,” he breathed harshly.

She moaned louder.

Iris caught his mouth between hers, flicking her tongue in and out while he moaned around it; eventually, though, there were far too many clothes separating their bodies. He all but ripped her dress down (somewhere, she thought she heard beads snapping off the gown and scattering about the marble floors); she simply undid his belt and hurriedly pushed his trousers down so that the heat of him was closer to her center.

“Fuck, _Iris_.” Barry moaned her name against her neck, marveling at the sight of her practically bare beneath him. Her pert nipples poked through the lacy bra she wore, dress pooled around them like puffy snow. He slipped a warm digit up and down the warm folds of her wet underwear, loving the feeling of fabric pressed against and into her wetness while she writhed beneath the feeling, threading her fingers into his hair.

“Barry — oh _god_ baby,” Iris moaned, watching him rub her to satisfaction beneath his lusty gaze. She couldn’t come like this, could she? Usually, she liked the combination of fingers pumping and rubbing, but the way he gazed at her, lips swollen from kissing, breath coming in time with hers as she fucked his fingers, her hands scraping at the wall — trying to grab at anything for purchase against the onslaught of sensation he was giving her.

“Iris, what’s my name?” He kissed the phrase into her mouth, paused his ministrations, forcing her to beg.

“Barry — _Flash_ — oh fuck, I don’t care as long as you don’t stop — _please_.”

He was terrible at denying her, so his fingers picked up their rhythm again, but this time his other hand tugged at her bra, exposing one pert nipple for twisting and pinching while he rubbed away at the growing wetness below. Iris watched him in disbelief — her adorable, dorky, sweet boyfriend fucking her without even fucking her, really. Iris felt her orgasm building around the entire scene, her legs and near-nakedness wrapped about him while he was still practically fully clothed, the fabric of his tuxedo bushing against her too-warm skin — the reality of coming undone around him, while guests partied not too far away. She hit her head against the wall in leaning back, arching into his touch, the feeling of his tongue against her neck, fingers kneading pert nipples, and quick jerky movements around her clit all becoming too much.

She screamed, _loud_ , unraveling around him.

And if they didn’t know who the Flash was dating, they probably did now.

* * *

Iris and The Flash were in that alcove for another half hour, him pumping into the sheath of wetness left over from her orgasm, her egging him on sexily with soft, dirty, encouragement — _don’t stop, I_ need _you, fuck_ — flicking his ear with her tongue and whispering about how badly she’d wanted him to be the one touching her all night. Barry was keening, the feeling of sliding into and out of her milking him dry, fisting his hands into the fabric of her underwear (which he’d only slid to one side in his haste to enter her) and the perch of her ass, calling her name over and over again like a needy prayer that couldn’t help but tumble from his lips.

“Come for me,” she begged, sucking on _the_ spot beneath his ear that drove him mad.

He broke around her, harsh moans assaulting the quiet as he pumped away the waves of orgasm that hit him one after another. She bit him softly there while he left palm prints against her, their ministrations marking one another in the most public of places. She was his. He was hers.

The world knew that now.

And when he helped her back into her dress, he kissed her softly, then sped away, a ghost of his presence left in the marks on her neck and legs. After a walk of shame through the crowded hall (which was perhaps, thankfully, too loud to hear the sounds of their fucking, since no one paid her much mind when she left), followed by a cab ride home, Iris was back at their apartment after a whirlwind day.

When she walked in, Barry was all sex-toussled hair, having changed into simple sweats and t-shirt, feigning nonchalance, throwing her a soft smile laced with delicious remnants of want at the sight of her dishevelled state.

“How’d the Gala go?” He asked innocently.

Iris licked her lips, eyed him up and down for a moment, then smirked.

“Good. Really good.”

Barry smiled, offered her a steaming mug of tea, helped her undress, and then settled with her onto their favorite spot on the couch.

“Good,” he whispered, nuzzling his nose against hers in the silence of their beautiful loft. “That’s good.”

“Yeah,” she whispered, post-coital tiredness consuming her. “But we’re still on for that raincheck, yeah?”

“Yeah. I was a good boy while you were out,” he teased. “I even booked reservations and made plans for it, you know, while you were away, having a ‘good’ time.” He winked.

And in that moment, Iris wasn’t sure if it was possible to feel any happier than she did right then and there.


End file.
